


Live forever

by Ischa



Series: Definition of destiny-Series [5]
Category: Heroes - Fandom, Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Multi, Threesome, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-05
Updated: 2011-07-05
Packaged: 2017-10-21 02:07:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ischa/pseuds/Ischa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sylar steals Hiro's power and makes a little trip to the future.<br/><i>“You know you love him, right?” Sylar asks with a sardonic smile. He gets one in return. It looks exactly the same, a mirror image.<br/>“We don’t talk about it,” he replies.<br/>“No, we don’t…” </i><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Live forever

**Title:** Live forever  
 **Pairing:** Sylar/Damon/Peter  
 **Rating:** R  
 **Summary:** Sylar steals Hiro's power and makes a little trip to the future.  
 _“You know you love him, right?” Sylar asks with a sardonic smile. He gets one in return. It looks exactly the same, a mirror image.  
“We don’t talk about it,” he replies.  
“No, we don’t…” _  
**Warning(s):** sex, angst, character death, Vampire Diaries crossover  
 **Author’s Notes:** This is alternative-future fic and part of the 'Definition of destiny' series. It makes more sense with the rest of it. It's how it _could_ end. Title by Gym Class Heroes from the song 'Live forever (fly with me)'. I feel like I should make a soundtrack to this...  
 **Word Count:** 1.214  
  **Beta:** allfaltering  
  **Disclaimer:** Don’t know, don’t own, not real

\--+--  
Teleporting is always kind of disorienting. So is time travel. He doesn’t recognize the apartment, but he knows he lives here. Small things give him away to himself and maybe three other people on the planet. He closes his eyes briefly and opens them again when he hears a noise. A groan. Instinct kicks in and he’s invisible. He is not sure for a few endless seconds if it’s one of the good kind.  
Apparently it is. He discovers that after a few steps. The door to the bedroom is ajar. There is Peter spread out naked on pale green sheets and Damon. He can only see Damon’s back, but he’s seen Damon’s back a million times. He knows Damon’s back like he knows his own body. There is no mistaking what they’re doing. It’s kind of quiet; like it never is with them. Something feels off, just at the back of his mind. Like a shadow that somehow doesn’t quite fit.

“Damon…” Peter grits out and the smile, soft but with a cruel, feral edge, makes something inside him clench.

“Shut up, god, please, shut up,” Damon answers, and leans down. He knows Damon is kissing Peter. Kissing him silent, stealing his breath, his moans, his words.  
When Damon comes, he bites down, because he always does. Damon can’t help it. He can smell the blood, can hear Peter laugh. Damon rolls away. Lies on his side to watch Peter jerk himself off slowly. He hears a whispered ‘thank you’ from Damon.  
He knows the only reason Damon can’t sense him is because he always loses it a bit when he’s having sex or feeds. There’s the smile again. The one with the edge around the softness. It looks wrong, like something savage in a perfectly domestic setting. Peter bites his lip when he comes and Damon touches his face, turns it toward him. He licks the blood away and closes his eyes briefly before he gets up. He’s dressed in a flash and gone even faster.

~+~  
“I know you’re there,” Peter says.

“Of course you would,” he answers. He wants to smile, but he can’t.  
Peter sits up but his body is shifting. And he is not Peter anymore. “Surprise,” Sylar says. He’s still naked, and it’s not like he didn’t see himself naked before but… Sylar laughs.

“What the hell?” he wants to know. “Where’s Peter? The _real_ one? And since when do you, do _I_ …” he trails off.

“Dead,” Sylar answers.

“Dead.”

“Yes. See,” Sylar closes his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. “We lost him and Damon lost it. You can‘t imagine the body count.”

“I think I can,” he answers, leaning against the wall for support. He can do that here, here where there’s no one to judge him. He’s here with himself.

“You would,” Sylar says.

“Still-”

“You know you love him, right?” Sylar asks with a sardonic smile. He gets one in return. It looks exactly the same, a mirror image.

“We don’t talk about it,” he replies.

“No, we don’t…”

“We should have made Peter …I still can make him like me, or like Damon,” he says into the sudden silence. 

“He’ll hate you. He’ll hate Damon. Not sure, but I think Damon would hate himself.”

“And this is better?” he asks.

Sylar shrugs. “I have no idea. It keeps him sane.”

“Are you losing it?” It comes out sharper than he wanted to, but this is him and he’s going insane again.

Sylar laughs. “He can’t do the same for me,” Sylar says, instead of answering the question.

“No one can do that for you. You wouldn’t want anyone to do it either.” He’s pretty sure of it. It’s still a lie - there _is_ one person who can, who could. But he is not going there.

“He doesn’t stay,” Sylar says, looking out of the window.

“You don’t want him to.”

“No,” he whispers and then turns around sharply. “Make him understand. Make him see the things I’ve seen Damon do after, make him see the things I’ve done. The things _you’ll_ do after.”  
He would take a step back if he could. He doesn’t want to see all _this_ on his own face.  
“This is not the future you wanted to see, huh? Can’t blame you,” Sylar adds.  
He can’t be that broken, he thinks. But he knows he can, because he was like that before. Sylar stretches and gets up, his bare feet making soft sounds on the hard wooden floor. He follows himself into the kitchen. “Most of the time I have no idea where he is,” Sylar admits. “He just vanishes into the night and then a few weeks later he’s back and…we…sometimes we talk, sometimes we fuck, sometimes he fucks Peter.”

“Like tonight,” he says.

“Yes, like tonight. He can’t stay away, but he can’t stay either, because we’re not…” Sylar waves a hand.  
‘talking about it’ might be the end of that sentence, he thinks.  
He nods, because he understands. Love is just not enough and they don’t make sense, without Peter. It hurts too much. Sylar makes tea and takes out a mug he recognizes as Peter’s favourite, chipped at the rim. He is glad he can’t see Sylar’s (his own) face right now.

“The future is not set in stone,” he says.

“Believe me, I know that,” Sylar answers. There is something in Sylar's (his own) voice he recognizes from before and he doesn’t think about it when he just teleports back.

~+~  
The night air is biting cold. It’s winter and he left his jacket in the future. He wants a warm coffee really, really bad right now, but he isn’t even sure where the hell he is at the moment.  
When he rounds a corner he sees Damon leaning against the wall. Like he knew Sylar would be here.

“You look like shit,” he says with this charming smile that betrays his feral nature.  
Sylar only nods, the memory of Damon (desperate and broken) too fresh in his mind. “Where the hell were you and where is your jacket?” he asks.

“Lost it,” he answers.

“Right.” Damon pushes away from the wall – all graze and danger - and grabs his shirt with his right hand. The other slips over his bare arm. “You feel like me.”

Wow, Sylar thinks, fucking wow. “Take me home,” he says, instead of the million other things he wants to or should.  
The beautiful thing about Damon is that he just does when he feels like it. And Sylar knows he can’t resist an invitation like this. He takes a sharp breath, inhaling Sylar’s scent.

“Blood, desire, desperation. Where have you been?” he whispers against Sylar’s skin. Sylar grabs Damon’s jacket, pulls him closer still. So he can look in his eyes.

“Take me _home_ ,” he repeats.  
Damon nods.

~end~


End file.
